


Oso laik sontaim kom eno. (We're all stories in the end.)

by Galactic_Pauna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Magical Elements, more to be added - Freeform, wanheda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:31:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galactic_Pauna/pseuds/Galactic_Pauna
Summary: Collection of drabbles and such.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble that came to me one drunken night. I really enjoy Dark Clarke and Ass Kicking Heda.

The roar of the crowd faded to a dull muted thing, mildly annoying at best, as Lexa opened herself up to the Spirit of the Flame. It burned it’s way from the base of her skull and down her rigid spine. Its molten touch fluttered down along her nerve endings, invigorating muscles and charging senses. Indigo shadows eclipsed the white and forest green of Lexa’s eyes. The Commander was in charge now, Lexa a back seat observer.

 

Roan stood across an empty stretch of cracked stone, his chest heaving great gusts of air in and out. He renewed the grip on his spear and charged. His only chance was to catch his opponent at the most disorienting part of the Flame’s takeover. He manages to dislodge first one sword than the other from her clumsy grasp in quick succession. A quick boot to her chest sent her sprawling out on the ruined ground.

 

The Ice Nation Prince stepped forward warily, waiting for any sign of retaliation. His window of opportunity was shrinking with each of Heda’s labored breaths. Her black gaze suddenly snapped into focus as his spear came slashing down. A lighting fast roll transitioned to a ground based roundhouse kick to Roan’s knee. His muscled form crashed to the ground with a dull thud and a grunt. She stood over him and the light seemed to shrink away from her in fear. A consuming thickness lay heavy on his chest as her very being grew to tower over his prostrate body.

 

His purloined spear shifted subtly in her grip then hurtled toward his mother as if it had a regicidal mind of its own. It struck her chest with an otherworldly precision, parting flesh and bone to neatly split the Ice Queens cold heart in two. Nia’s face went from rapt attention to surprise and stayed that way until her muscles slowly slacked, her puppet strings irrevocably cut. Her last wheezing breath coalesced into a serpentine ribbon of silky black smoke. It swirled up above Lexa, still poised over Prince Roan, to dart left and approach Clarke, pushing the crowd back as it circled the Skaikru Ambassador. It flicked out to her shoulder, passing easily through fabric to land on her skin with a soft sizzle.

 

Clarke stiffened, her eyes glowing a brilliant bluish white light that surged out, illuminating the gathered grounders in stark highlights. Her breath hissed in through clenched teeth then exhaled just as sharply. Dust and leaves and debris swirled up around her, gathering ferocity with each revolution. The last bit of black smoke settled along the side of Clarke’s neck, stopping right behind her ear with one final buzz of pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched her fists until her knuckles were as white as her stare. The swirling mass of wind stopped as suddenly as it started, the detris dropping to the ground.

 

Wanheda bore another mark, another death she shoulders. But this time, she doesn’t mind so much.


End file.
